


Mouth is Made of Metal

by Theboys



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:44:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4699616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things would be so much easier on him if he would just answer questions, the first time they're given.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mouth is Made of Metal

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Gold, by Sir Sly.

Sam pauses to grin at the grip he’s got around Dean’s forearms, the pretty pale they make as he digs in, and the contrast of red flush as he lightens the pressure.

He releases Dean’s upper arms to trail his fingertips down his lower back, hands stopping automatically at the way Dean’s spine is arched, chest shoved forward, due to the twine his wrists are secured in.

He’s a fucking masterpiece.

His body is bowed in Sam’s direction and his legs are bracketed on either side of Sam’s spread eagle sprawl. Sam’s jeans are open, no boxers, tuft of pubic hair encircling the base of his dick.

Sam inches his fingers up and around, to tug at one nipple mercilessly, and Dean mewls, lulled into a false sense of security.

“I’ll move, Dean, much as you want, soon as you answer me.”

Sam angles the laptop away from Dean’s squirming body, pushes it from his brother’s face, even though Dean is in no position to read the screen.

“Fuck, Sammy, I told you already.” Dean’s voice is gravel and sand, bruised to a point, and Sam curses under his breath as his dick involuntarily jumps, causing the tight walls of Dean’s hole to flutter around him.

Dean’s head lolls backwards of its own accord and he makes a renewed struggle in his bonds.

He’s naked from head to toe, and Sam leans his head forward between the chin and shoulder to drink in his brother’s body.

He’s wire-tight, nipples puffy and crimson, straining upwards in arousal. He reaches his hand around to thumb at the crown of Dean’s erect dick, smooths the pre-come in with the callused pad of his finger.

Dean stutters out a gasp and arches away from the contact.

Sam skims lower and slaps heavily at his sac, and Dean’s eyes are locked tight, and even still, tears manage to escape, damp river on pale cheeks.

Sam rolls his hips, just once, because he can’t sit fucking still any longer, not with the slippery wet way Dean’s clenched around him, strong thighs bracing all of his weight so he doesn’t ride Sam the way he’s dying to do.

Sam types with one hand.

“I’ll hold you down and make you _take it_ , soon as you tell me what I wanna hear.”

Dean cries out as Sam rolls his hips once more, aims brutally for his prostate, misses it twice but slaps it on the third try. Sam snakes his hand around the front and catches Dean’s flushed cock at the base, squeezes shy of too painful.

Dean’s arms wiggle fruitlessly in the trap that Sam’s caught them in, and Sam can’t resist, leans forward close enough to clamp his teeth down just above the first knot in Dean’s spine, and his brother shoves his own hips down, even though he’s already locked in place by Sam’s dick.

“Jesus fuck,” Sam breathes, hot and dark into Dean’s pinkened skin.

“Gonna make me sit here all night?”

The sentence is more or less coherent, sputtered out through the amount of tears falling from Dean’s face, and Sam almost takes pity on him, but he braces himself.

He wants this, almost as much as he knows Dean wants to give it.

“You can keep it warm. Can call Cas real quick, so he can see you like this.” Sam whispers this lowly against the shell of Dean’s ear, sucks the bottom lobe in between too-white teeth. “Stuck on my dick, fucking whore for me, all open and wet.”

Dean’s legs tremble erratically from where they’re obscenely spread open, and Sam watches his dick jerk in fascination.

“That right, Dean? Wanna come all over an Angel of the Lord?”

That’s Dean’s undoing, and Dean opens his mouth, senseless babble pouring forth.

“I’m good for you, Sammy, fucking good for you, let you bend me over anywhere you want--” his voice tightens in his throat as Sam bodily lifts him up, just two hands splayed around his firm middle, rising him up so high in the air that only the crown of Sam’s dick keeps his hole winking open.

“Jesus, Sam, the answer is fucking yes, c’n fuck me wherever and whenever, just gotta tell me how you want it--” and that’s all that Sam needs, honestly, and was that so hard?

He slams Dean’s body back down, fully sheathing him on his cock, equal parts triumph and arousal.

“Fuck yourself on me, then. Apologize for making me wait.”

Sam closes his laptop absently as he watches his brother struggle to regain control of his legs, brace his feet flat on the wooden floor and arch his bound body forward, for optimal momentum.

Sam holds out his hands, ready to catch Dean if he looks like he’s in any danger of falling, but Dean only pulls himself up, jerkily, and pushes back home, only about halfway off Sam’s dick, because he just hasn’t got the leverage for anything else.

Sam watches, biting at his lower lip as Dean struggles to screw himself down, frustrated whimpers leaking from his brother’s throat.

Wants to touch the nasty-pretty way his brother’s gaping around him, hungry way his hole flutters in panic when Sam seems close to being expelled. It’s shiny wet with lube and spit, and Sam wants to fill him up so bad he thrusts up without intention, and an honest-to-God scream tumbles out of Dean’s mouth.

“Hold on.”

The order is roughly given, and Sam wraps his paws around Dean’s hips, bruise-tight, and jerks him up and down, shoves him to the base so violently that Dean’s back to crying. He corkscrews his hips on every other thrust upwards, and watches as his brother’s feet scrabble for any purchase on the floor beneath him.

Dean’s dick jerks stiffly, edging towards violet-red, slaps wetly against his lower abdomen.

Sam smirks to himself. He’s been so good, hasn’t come in three days, and spent most of them attached to Sam’s dick, cause the stubborn fuck wouldn’t answer Sam’s question.

Sam’s incensed, all of a sudden, and stills his furious thrusts to snake his index finger inside Dean’s ruined hole, wiggles it in tight, and his brother’s head falls forward.

“Sammy that’s a lot--Jesus Christ--”

And then Sam’s using his thighs to bounce Dean along, half jerks on his cock, finger rubbing against inner walls alongside his dick.

“Y’know what’s a lot, Dean?”

Sam huffs, in between intakes of limited air.

“You thinking m’ever gonna share you. Ever gonna let anyone else see you naked and bent over, fucking slut for my dick.”

Dean whimpers, squirms on Sam’s cock as best he can in his position.

“Don’t want that, Sammy, m’sorry--I didn’t mean it--”

Sam doesn’t wanna hear it. He wants to ask him when he’s all fucked out, when he’s limp and dripping come and so hard he could die, cause Sam just. won’t. let. him. come.

He leans forward and bites so savagely at the side of Dean’s neck that the copper tang of blood envelopes his tongue instantly, and Dean startles, high-pitched keen that shoots straight to Sam’s dick. Sam’s pretty sure this’ll be what kills him, nevermind Hell.

“You can come, Dean,” Sam offers soothingly, but then his hand is a tight ring around Dean’s dick once more, and he feels his brother’s body shudder with aborted relief.

“Right after you answer me this.” Dean trembles at the words, full body ache, and he’s panting so heavily Sam can feel it on his own thighs.

“Who do you belong to?”


End file.
